


Frost and Stone

by bioticbootyshaker



Category: Diablo (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-18 21:58:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11299662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bioticbootyshaker/pseuds/bioticbootyshaker
Summary: Following the relationship of Lachdanan and Leoric, over three decades; from young men with more bravery than sense, to old men brought low by betrayal and darkness.





	Frost and Stone

_Be careful_ , a small voice whispered at the back of his head as he entered the throne room. Lachdanan stood in the center of the room with his hands behind his back and his back straight and his heart knocking against his ribs, and he jumped when Leoric said his name.

He hadn't served for the king for very long; only a handful of months. There wasn't much that separated him from boyhood, truly, a few years and a set of armor and a fancy title was the only barrier, and he was still young enough to feel his knees tremble when he met Leoric's eyes. 

The King of Khanduras was not as imposing as Lachdanan had been led to believe. He expected to find a man of advanced years, with a shock of silver hair and cold, piercing eyes as sharp as the sword at Lachdanan's hip. Instead, he found a man not much older than himself, barely into his mid-twenties, with black hair and dark eyes and a smile that sat lopsided on his face. 

He was... quite a bit lovelier than Lachdanan had been expecting, and the voice at the back of his mind implored him once more to proceed with caution.

But Leoric was his king, and as soon as Lachdanan laid eyes on him, he loved him. 

Leoric waved a hand at the guards that flanked his throne, banishing them outside of the grand hall. Lachdanan watched the men leave with uncertainty heavy in his belly, not sure why the king would dismiss his men simply to speak with him about the situation in Westmarch.

"You are Lachdanan, yes?"

"Yes, my liege," Lachdanan said, dropping to his knee and bowing his head to Leoric.

Leoric chuckled, not an unkind or unpleasant sound, and clucked his tongue. "I've enough fool men dropping to their knees," he said. "Stand."

Lachdanan rose, keeping his eyes set on Leoric's face, no matter how badly he wished to stare at his feet. He trembled, surprised his armor didn't rattle and let Leoric now how frightened he was before him.

"You were the Knight that led the assault on Kingsport," Leoric continued. "I have heard that things did not go smoothly."

That was putting it mildly. It had been a massacre. Lachdanan had been lucky to get away with his life. No doubt Leoric would punish him for not dying honorably, and Lachdanan braced himself for the return of the guards who had left at Leoric's silent command. He had them fetching shackles to drag him away to the dungeons, where he would be tortured and stripped of his flesh by brutish men and their whips. 

But Leoric surprised him by standing from his throne and descending the stairs that separated them. The chamber was quiet except for the thunder of his boots on the stone floor, and Lachdanan's heart shuddered with each step he took.

"You were brave to stand as long as you did," Leoric said, stopping in front of him. "My men suggested that you should be punished for failing to take the city; but the fault was mine. We do not stand ready to do battle with Westmarch. My impatience lost the lives of many brave men, and you have my apologies, Lachdanan."

"You owe me no apologies, my liege. Every man and woman that fights for you is ready to lay down their lives for you with no hesitation. I retreated only to bring you the news that Kingsport is nearly impenetrable."

"I owe you more than my apologies," Leoric said. "I owe you my thanks as well. Had you not returned I no doubt would have sent more soldiers after you, and more would have died needlessly."

Leoric gripped his shoulder and squeezed. Lachdanan met his eyes, and there was something like electricity that sparked between them. The hair at the nape of his neck stood on end, and his breath caught sharply. Only for an instant, and he flushed hotly when the moment passed and left behind a dull ache in his chest.

"You will serve me, here," Leoric said. "I need men who will tell me the truth, and not simply nod their empty, fool heads. I would keep you at my side, Lachdanan."

"Y-yes, your highness."

"Call me Leoric," he said. "Everything else seems so... rigid, doesn't it?"

"Yes," Lachdanan said. "Leoric."

_Be careful, be careful, be careful._

But how could he? 

Leoric was his king, and Lachdanan loved him.

****

He didn't trust him.

The Archbishop made no attempts to disguise his dislike of Lachdanan, and in turn, Lachdanan made no attempts to mask his own distrust of Lazarus. For more than a decade he had watched the shifty little bootlicker do everything he possibly could-- aside from literally getting down on his hands and knees to spit shine Leoric’s boots -- to ingratiate himself to the King. And his perseverance had paid off; he now had Leoric’s ear, as well as his word that he would come to Lazarus for any counsel. Lachdanan watched, sourly, as the Archbishop all but preened with pride beside Leoric’s throne as the King spoke of the impending war against Westmarch. 

“My liege,” Lachdanan said, hoping he didn't sound as venomous as he felt. “With all due respect to the Archbishop---”

“Your man speaks above his station,” Lazarus said, and there was a cruelty on his face, brief and fleeting, that Lachdanan had never seen. It chilled him, and made his eyes move gratefully to Leoric’s face. Only ten years had passed since he first stood before his King, and swiftly fallen disastrously and bewilderingly in love with him, but from the lines that marked Leoric’s face and the gray flecking the hair at his temples, it seemed more like twenty.

“You would do well to curb such insubordination,” Lazarus suggested. “It does not endear you to your people to hear the Commander of your armies not know his place.”

For a moment, Leoric looked as hard and cold as the stone of his throne, and Lachdanan felt his chest tighten, but he smiled, and his eyes softened. “Lachdanan has been a staunch and stalwart friend to me,” Leoric said. “There is no other in all of Khanduras I would trust the word of.”

Lachdanan felt the eyes of the Archbishop on him, and the dark, bitter waves of jealousy and anger that followed. He knew Lazarus had been carefully cultivating his relationship with Leoric, hoping to be the only one in the Kingdom that held his trust -- his hatred for Lachdanan was palpable, and he could only breathe easily when Leoric dismissed Lazarus.

“He meant no offense---” Leoric started.

“He's an ass,” Lachdanan interrupted. “I wish you would consider appointing another as your Archbishop, there's something I don't trust about him.”

“Don't tell me you've been listening to all the whispers and rumours running through the palace,” Leoric teased. “Is Lazarus a demon in disguise, meant to send Khanduras to ruin?”

Lachdanan flushed, mostly because he _had_ heard the rumours, and in fact, had spread a few himself. “Of course not,” Lachdanan said. “But---”

“Come here to me,” Leoric said, his voice a low and pleasant rumble. He only spoke with such a tone when he was alone with Lachdanan, and it never failed to make shivers run hotly up his spine. 

He moved to where Leoric sat, and let Leoric take his hands in his own. To anyone else, he would have appeared intimidating; his crown jagged and sharp, his eyes the color of frost, his throne a mountain of carved stone -- but to Lachdanan, he only looked beautiful. 

Leoric kissed his knuckles, and the shiver on his spine spread across his skin. Goosebumps rose under Leoric’s lips, and he smiled against Lachdanan’s skin, looking more beautiful than anyone had a right. 

“You worry too much,” Leoric whispered. “There is no grand conspiracy, or unseen machinations. I would have thought such a brave, solid mountain of a man would have more courage than to jump at shadows.”

“You're teasing me,” Lachdanan said.

“Of course I am,” Leoric agreed. His fingers moved to the nape of Lachdanan’s neck, and he pulled him down. “You are wonderfully fun to tease,” he finished, before kissing him hard enough to make Lachdanan’s head swim.

Lachdanan wanted to tell him not to trust Lazarus, and not to let his distrust of Westmarch lead them to a pointless and costly war. But when he pulled back, Leoric was smiling up at him with his pretty eyes warm and dark with desire, and Lachdanan forgot everything else but his want of him.

Leoric was his King, and Lachdanan loved him.

****

Winter had come to Khanduras. The sky was a cold, steel gray, and the earth under his boots was hard with frost.

And, donned in his ceremonial armor, with his eyes glinting from his helmet like chips of ice, Leoric was as frozen and unforgiving as the dirt underfoot.

He spoke of Westmarch, his voice echoing through the wall of soldiers before him. Men and women who would gladly give their lives for their King and country, and who now were being called upon to do just that. The Council had listened to Lazarus, as Leoric had, and now they were being marched off to die.

As he spoke, the sky opened, and a cold, frigid rain began to pelt against them. It was a rain that promised snow, and Lachdanan worried how many soldiers they'd lose in the coming storm before they even made it to Westmarch.

“My liege,” Lachdanan said, when Leoric finished with his speech. “I must once more beg you to reconsider---”

Leoric looked like a stranger as his eyes fell on Lachdanan’s face. Was this the same man he had devoted so much of his life to? Was this the same man who had kissed him and touched him and made love to him?

Was this the man Leoric loved? 

“You will do as you are ordered, General,” Leoric said. “Or you will be replaced by someone of less questionable loyalty. Am I clear in this?”

The wind howled around him, and Lachdanan could have sworn it howled _through_ him, with how deeply the words from his King hollowed him.

Beside Leoric, Lazarus stood with his cloak billowing around him, looking smugly satisfied. Lachdanan had never wanted to run someone through with such passion, and he looked away from the Archbishop before he took leave of his senses and stained the dirt with his blood. 

“Yes,” Lachdanan said, his voice lost in the wind. “I understand, my liege.”

What could he do? 

Leoric was his King, and Lachdanan loved him.

****

Leoric was his King, and Lachdanan loved him. 

That was why he drove his sword through him, as Leoric spat at him and cursed him as a traitor. It would have been easier, if he had remained in the throes of whatever dark and malevolence that had taken control of him -- but in his last moments of life, Leoric looked as he had all those years ago. He looked like the man who had kissed him and touched him and made love to him.

He looked like the man Lachdanan loved. 

His fingers were frail and trembling as they touched Lachdanan’s face, and there was a ghost of a smile on his lips, lopsided, the way Lachdanan remembered. 

_We were never meant for a happy ending_ , Lachdanan thought, and tears burned hotly at his eyes, as Leoric took one last, shuddering breath, and went still. 

The curse came later, after Leoric’s body was cold and his tormented spirit took up the stone of his throne; but in that moment, Lachdanan was cursed by the haunting memory of Leoric kissing across his knuckles and looking up at him with love and desire. 

And it was a memory that followed him, even as he descended into the dark, alone.

**Author's Note:**

> this is, probably, my oldest otp, from back before my i even knew what an otp _was_ lmao and of course it doesn't have a happy ending;;;


End file.
